← DISGRACELAND
DISGRACELAND
The Rolling Stones Pt. 2: Swinging London, Stolen Jewels, the Mars Bar Myth, and Busted at Redlands
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- [00:05]
Jake Brennan
Double Elvis. So I try to stay disciplined with work and I try to do my creative task, mainly the writing of the podcast in the morning hours. But you can't always control when inspiration is going to hit. So last night I'm up until about midnight researching and then I start writing, which I didn't want to do, but I had to go with it. I'm in the flow. I stay up way later than I want to. I still gotta get up early in the morning and I'm bone tired. Coffee isn't helping. So thankfully I've got my stash of five Hour Energy and they've got this new confetti craze flavor that I love. It's fantastic. Tastes great. Tastes like a party in a bottle. Which when you're dragging in the morning, believe me, is much needed. Fantastic flavor with this new five Hour Energy Confetti. Great. It's just vanilla y buttery. That's my jam right there. One of the things I also like about five Hour Energy, the bottles. As you probably know, they're tiny and resealable. I can take em anywhere I want. So if I'm gonna hit a wall later in the day, I'm prepared. I just tap into my five Hour Energy stash and I am good to go. Wherever I go. This is a little party in a bottle. It's gonna pump you up. It's gonna get you rolling into your day, whether it's the morning, whether it's the afternoon, whether it's nighttime. Five hour energy confetti is available online. Head to www.5h.com or Amazon to order yours today. You guys feel that that's the summer. It's starting to fade away. It's the fall creeping in with those cooler temps and quints. My go to brand for great fitting, great looking quality clothing. They got me covered with fall staples that are going to freshen up my wardrobe. I'm rocking the European linen chore jacket right now. It's lightweight enough to layer over a flannel, but heavy enough to keep you warm if you're just wearing a T shirt under it. And it looks awesome. The color is cool. It's this martini olive color and you know who doesn't like olives or martinis? Also, I bragged about Quince's Mongolian cashmere crew neck sweater before for a reason because it looks awesome and it's super comfortable. I've already got one in heather gray, but I'm going to nab the black one from Quince very shortly. Perfect for the fall. Quince is my go to guys. I've been talking about them for months now. They're my go to for durable classic clothing without the elevated price tag. What makes quints different? Well, they partner directly with ethical factories and skip the middlemen so you get top tier fabrics and great craftsmanship at half the price of similar brands. So if you want to look like one of those icons we feature here in Disgraceland and not spend a fortune doing so, then keep it classic and cool this fall with long lasting staples from quints. Go to quints.com Disgraceland for free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. That's Q U I-n C e.com Disgraceland free shipping and 365 day returns quints.com Disgracland Disgraceland is a production of Double Elvis, the Rolling Stones. Their place in London society in the mid-60s and the circumstances leading up to and surrounding the arrests of both Keith Richards and Mick Jagger are so complex that I needed two episodes to properly tell this story. If you're just getting hip to this now, I suggest you hit pause and go back to Disgraceland episode 60 or part one of the Rolling Stones Swinging London story where we discuss the band's prefab rivalry with the Fab Four, London's fast changing culture, the arrest of pop star Donovan, the news of the world's axe to grind with the Stones, the influence of the Aristos, gangsters and spies, one escaped and one in the ranks. In this episode we get deeper into the band's bending of the law and social norms as well as into the mold breaking great rock and roll music that the Rolling Stones created. Unlike the music I played for you at the top of the show, that wasn't great music. That was a preset loop from my melotron called Cock a doodle blues mk1. I played you that loop because I can't afford the rights to Windy by the Association. And why would I play you that specific slice of easy breezy pop cheese? Could I afford it? Because that was the number one song in America on July 1, 1967, and that was the day the conservative London Times released the editorial entitled who breaks a butterfly on a wheel, effectively saving the careers of the embattled and likely soon to be imprisoned Mick Jagger and Keith Robert Richards on this episode, a jewel heist, a drug bust, a powerful axe to grind, Mick and Keith behind bars, Brian Jones off the rails and easy breezy cheese. Ladies and gentlemen, the Rolling Stones. I'm Jake Brennan and this is disgrace 24 years old and one of the biggest pop stars on the planet, with the eyes of Her Majesty's entire kingdom trained on him, Mick Jagger sat in the back of a rickety police car, racing through the streets of London, taking him to jail. He arrived numb and in disbelief. How had it come to this? Jail or nothing. Pills, amphetamines. They were prescribed legal. Was it because of Robert Fraser with his 24 jacks of heroin and his dainty Elizabethan box, the fallen angel of Eton, slumming it with the Rolling Stones, showing just how far society could slide into the disgraced clutch of rock and roll? Was it because of Mary Ann with the fur rug and nothing on under it, the well behaved, beatific young lady turned lascivious nympho by the Rolling Stones? Or was it because of Brian Jones and his loose acid smacked lips, corrupting London's youth, turning them on to tuning out the establishment? Whatever the reason, Mick Jagger hardly felt like he had committed any crime befitting of this punishment. Three months in prison for possession of drugs, again, prescription drugs. Inside the walls of the prison, Mick was stripped and deloused and thrown into a solitary cell off the infirmary. He was permitted the visit of a girlfriend, the aforementioned quote unquote, lascivious nympho, Marianne Faithful. Marianne was scared, but not as scared as Mick. Mick saw the writing on the wall. This was it. This was game, set, match. The squares had won. He was done. Keith was surely done as well. Brian had been done for over a year now. Charlie would have to go back to the trad jazz clubs and who knew what Bill would do. Ian would probably end up driving a lorry. Andrew had already split for the States, couldn't take the heat from the arrests. He wasn't even there. Coward. If Mick ever got out of this, he knew one thing. If the Rolling Stones were to continue, it would be without Andrew. Lou Goldham, Alan Klein would take over the whole show. Get Mick some of that Sam Cooke juice. Marianne stood outside the cell. Mick was in regulation prison garb. It was two sizes too big. He looked so small and so scared. He was mumbling, semi coherent. It was as if Marianne wasn't even there. Mick's rambling was incessant. It turned to anger, anger born of desperation. The past few years for Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones was one constant ascent up, up and up. And there were no real setbacks and there was no plateauing of any sort since their inception, since the early packed crowds at the Marquee Club in 1962, to signing on with Andrew Oldham as their manager in 63. And then soon after with Decca, their first tour of the UK with Bo Diddley, Little Richard and the Everly Brothers. How top was that? Mick could have died then and there and gone to his grave. A successful in his own mind at least. What soon followed was beyond his schoolboy dreams. Chart success in the UK, number 12 with John and Paul's I want to be your man and all the way to number two with Buddy Holly's Not Fade Away. And then it was off to America, where they'd have to find a way to overcome the indifference and disdain of the American establishment without a hit, relying on their live chops and charisma to put a snarky Dean Martin in his place on national television. Then to Chess Studios, where Muddy Waters carried in their gear for them again. Mick could have died then and there, the old blues man, Muddy Wolf. They welcomed Mick and his bandmates with genuine kindness, real openness, not a shred of cynicism or contempt. In the Rolling Stones, they saw reverence, sincerity, authenticity, which was more than what James Brown saw. James saw three threat a bunch of white boys from a strange little country profiting off of what he was working hard to dominate Black American R B music. James took them to school at the filming of the Tammy show. But the vanquishing from the stage wasn't without its value. Mick learned a lot from watching James on stage. How he moved, how he owned the audience. And later that year, when Ronnie Spector, Keith's American girlfriend, she was Ronnie Bennett at the time, Crazy Phil hadn't sealed the deal yet. Anyway, when Ronnie took them to see James Brown's legendary Apollo performance, Mick would learn even more how to be a frontman on and off stage. James was finding sidemen in the middle of a set with subtle hand gestures and backstage holding court like a regal prince being catered to by his servantry, fussing over his hair, his outfit, even his nails. Mick Jagger took note. Then the was the number one hit in the uk, Little Red Rooster, the tour of Australia, New Zealand, and another number one slot in the UK with Bobby Womacks. The last time that went to number nine in the us and they were moving up. And they could feel it. The world could feel it. The movement was constant. The Rolling Stones were coming. Then Keith had the dream, the dream that changed everything. He dreamed up the riff after listening to too much Otis Redding trying to play those horns on an acoustic guitar. Keith woke up from the dream and luckily had enough sense to put the riff down on tape, recorded it On a little Phillips tape recorder he kept on the nightstand in his hotel. In the morning, there it was. Mick had no problem writing lyrics to that one. Brought them next to the pool at the hotel in Clearwater, Florida. And you can feel the sticky heat on those words. Satisfaction. It went to number one in the US and in the uk, of course. And then the last time, another one Keith and Mick wrote went to number one as well. And then the same top slots for Get Off In My Cloud and Paint It Black, the Rolling Stones couldn't miss. The Beatles, of course, were enjoying their own success at the time. Time. And the Stones wore the black hat, sure, but that was just image for the kiddie magazines. Anyone in the know knew better, knew that John, Paul, George and Ringo were up to the same extracurricular activities. The Stones were hell even together with the Stones a lot of the time. George and Patty Boyd were at Redmonds the night of the bust. And they just happened to have the good fortune of leaving before bloody hell busted up their trip. And this. It was all over now. Jail. The very likely end of the Rolling Stones. Mick couldn't handle it. He was breaking down behind the cell bars. Mary Ann, on the other side, broke character and went for tough love. Pull yourself together. Don't let the jackbooted thug see you cry. Don't play the part of the prissy little pop star. Be a man. Mick would never forgive her for it. And he'd never forgive whoever it was who tipped off the cops. It had to be one of Keith's friends. Not Robert Fraser and not Christopher Gibbs. They were too sophisticated. But Keith had other friends, more unsavory. Spanish Tony came to mind. He was always running some sort of scam right there in the open without you even knowing it. Mick remembered the story that Keith told him.
- [13:30]
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- [14:11]
Jake Brennan
The victims were an elderly couple it was up close and personal.
- [14:15]
Podcast Advertiser/Announcer
I'm 48 Hours correspondent Erin Moriarty. I thought I had seen it all until I encountered the mastermind behind those murders.
- [14:25]
Jake Brennan
He's. I think the word is psychotic.
- [14:28]
Podcast Advertiser/Announcer
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- [15:18]
Jake Brennan
Behind Bond street, near Piccadilly, the Burlington Arcade, a covered European shopping gallery, one of the precursors to the modern day shopping mall. Built by the Earl of Burlington, brother to the Duke of Devonshire, The Burlington Arcade retailed jewelry boutiques, fine watches, luxury perfumes, a mix of modern and traditional wares for both the old guard and discerning Chelsea set. Keith Richards sat outside behind the wheel of Spanish Tony's new Jaguar Mark 10, pimped out in two tones. Top of the line saloon car with a max speed of 120mph, faster than Brian Jones Rolls Royce Silver Cloud, the one he could hardly see over the steering wheel of and for half the price. Keith was eager to wheel around town in Tony's new Jag, see what it was made of and how it would handle. And Tony had just the opportunity. Keith waited outside the arcade, casually dragging on his cigarette. The sirens he heard were distant and dreamlike, more like the air raid sirens from the Second World War than anything twirling atop a copper's roof or from an alarm. But with every passing second, the sound grew louder, more intense. And finally, coupled with what most certainly was the sound of an alarm, a sharp, consistent rattle. Keith looked around the outside of the Jag and there was no one around. A couple stragglers shopping about. And then Keith looked to his right, out of the driver's side window toward the arcade's entryway. Double doors. They burst open and through them came Spanish Tony in full sprint, sprinting from what Keith didn't know. Keith left his cigarette to dangle between his lips, reached down with his left hand to twist the ignition, grabbed the wheel with his right, reached down to the stick shift to put the car in gear, looked up to see Tony sliding across the hood of the car and then bouncing into the passenger seat next to him with one word, drive. Heath was already a step ahead of him, no idea what Tony had just gotten him into. He knew he didn't want to stick around to find. Find out. Unbeknownst to Keith, Spanish Tony had just robbed the arcade's jewelry store. A hit and run, a real bang bang job. Tony had the new Jag, a clean car, and he needed a clean getaway driver. He knew Keith would never do it if he knew the score, so Tony set him up. Keith was pissed, but not entirely unsurprised. It wasn't the first time Spanish Tony would land him in piping hot water. And it was wouldn't be the last. Tony had his complications, but he wasn't entirely bad. He helped Robert Fraser out with his debt to the Kray Twins. Tony ran one of their casinos and that was another plus for Keith. It opened up the Rolling Stones world to a wide array of sordid characters who, in addition to being as glamorous as rock stars, could also procure hard to find drugs. In particular, acid. Which is most certainly how David Schneiderman, the Acid King, came into the picture, through some Spanish Tony, Robert Fraser, Craig Casino, Chelsea set. Christopher Gibbs, Aristo Connection. And no one really knew. But here he was, fresh from the States with his smarmy Cary Grant skin and White Lightning lsd. It was better than the Strawberry Fields, better than the Purple Haze, supposedly fresh from Keezy's personal batch. But who knew if that was true? David had a way about him. Instantly you get the vibe that at least half of what he said was utter bullshit. And he was as pretentious as they came, in that real hippie, dippy American west coast kind of way. On that infamous day, February 11, 1967, before handing out the LSD to the group assembled at Redlands, Keith's new home in West Sussex, David actually said, this is the dao of lysergic dithylamide, man. Let it speak to you. Let it tell you how to navigate the cosmos. What tripe. Even Mick snickered at that one, and he was obsessed with the dao. But regardless of the accompanying bs, the LSD that David the Acid King handed out was the stuff. The Stones, Keith and Mick. The Shantu Samaria, Unfaithful, the Etonians, Robert Fraser and Christopher Gibbs, and fellow Aristotle, Nikki Kramer, the photographer, Michael Cooper. And they tripped hard. And by the time dinner rolled around, Beetle George Harrison and his girlfriend Patti Boyd had turned up, only to quickly split after the rest of the group made it back, safely from their excursion through the nearby woods and then to the beach, back to Keith's Redland's home, lavishly decorated by Christopher Gibbs. The home wrapped, the tripping set up in its warm embrace, cozy. They began to settle in to riding out the final hours of their trip. And then a hard knock on the door. Was it really a knock? Or was it a collective oral hallucination? And there it was again, hard, intrusive, not going away. The group looked around at each other. No one spoke. Everyone had the same thought. Just be quiet and maybe it'll go away. And maybe whatever bad road was on the other side of the doorway would just roll itself up and wind itself away. But it didn't go away. It grew louder, more persistent. Keith took to it head on, strolled over to one of his front windows, pulled back the heavy curtain and looked out upon the pending disruption. There on his front lawn, at least a dozen, possibly more dwarfs, all wearing the same blue uniform, the same little shiny black shoes, and the same tiny little SS helmets. Keith couldn't wait to meet them. He opened the door, shirtless in his skin tight pinstripe slacks, barefoot, brown rocks and a tumbler in his right hand, welcoming them in with a wide stretch of his left arm. Gentlemen, wonderful attire. Am I expecting you? Anyway, come on in. It's a bit chilly out. The main dwarf tilted back his helmet head to look up at Keith. We have a search warrant. We'd like to read it to you. Keith would have none of it. Oh, that's very nice, but it's a bit cold outside. Come on in and read it to me. Over by the fireplace. Keith's hospitality was not met with kindness. In marched the stuffy uniformed dwarves. They began to quickly search the home, turning out ashtrays, opening up desk drawers, pulling books down, rare and valuable first editions procured, secured by Robert Fraser and casually throwing them to the ground. The sudden action sent Keith's head a wobble. He blinked his eyes and the dwarves had multiplied, completely overrun his home. And the sounds they made, grunting like pigs at the trough, tearing through his belongings, frightening his guests. He heard other sounds, the wind of the alarm outside, Spanish Tony's Jag. One of the pig face dwarves marked Marianne down the stairs, clad in nothing but Keith's fur rug. Marianne had just showered when the intrusion came upon them. Keith watched, confused. He heard the sound of Brian's pissy little laugh. The little carnival clown he turned into content with pissing his pants in the back of Keith Bentley While he and Mick took the piss out of him for being such a sniveling little twat. Brian had it all and he was blowing it. Keith heard the tumble from grace out of tune sitars, cracked knight marimbas and bent mallets. Failure. Fear of failure. It was scarier than any jackbooted pig rummaging through his house at the moment. But fear wasn't Keith's game. It was mix. Keith heard Blue Lena roaring towards Stonehenge from the back seat with Princess Margaret, his butler at the wheel. Christopher Gibbs in his double breasted suit up front, spouting off about flying saucers and the latest rumors about David Litvinov. Keith heard the razor blade pierce through Litvinov's skin, just under the chin. The slight tear of the skin, the sound of Litvinov taking it like a man stifling his screams, staring craze heavies in the eye, daring them to go all the fucking way with it if they were going to go on with it at all. Litvinov was hard, like Spanish Tony, like Keith, he could take it and he'd live to tell about it. The dwarves were relentless. The chick dwarf made Marianne drop the rug naked. And the pigs double took one. Take Marianne. There she stood, bare, paranoid, ravaged with fear, a nightmare of shame come to life. But nothing compared to what was about to come down on poor Mary Ann. It wasn't anything Keith hadn't seen before, but the sounds, these were new. The snorting of the pigs, the roaring engines. And then the horns. The honk of the air raid siren bending itself into the sound of the Memphis horns shaping his satisfaction riff the way it was supposed to sound. Thick, like the feeling in his head, like the rabbit fur on Marianne's back. Like the multi track guitars he had to cobble together to compensate for Brian's fuck offery. Like the bullshit being spewed by the piggy dwarves now fixed to separate the group. The Etonians, Robert Fraser and Christopher Gibbs, upper class, the pigs reserved whatever niceties they had for Groovy Bob and Gibsy. Then the Stones, Mick and Keith, Mary Ann alone on the stairs, the rest of the revelers off to the side with the servants, who the pigs barely acknowledged as being worthy of their disdain. They'd found pills, speed, wanted to know whose they were. Mick immediately and valiantly copped them being his. Then there were the jacks of heroin, 24 of them in Robert Fraser's beautiful little antique box. But strangely, left alone throughout the entirety of the raid was David Schneiderman. He wasn't even searched. Neither was his highly suspect aluminum briefcase filled with lsd. So strange. No matter the cops had what they wanted. A drug charge that would stick on a rolling stone. Possibly too. They'd gotten what they came for. The rest was now up to the courts. While they exited with the contraband to bring back to police headquarters to test and then use later to charge Mick and possibly Keith with, and most certainly Robert Fraser with, Keith decided to play them off with a little tune. He found his way to the downstairs record player, quickly popped down Bob Dylan's Blonde on Blonde and dropped the needle on rainy day women number 12 and 35. Everybody must get stoned. Keith's guests caught up and the piggies were enraged. Upon exiting, they'd see who got the last laugh. We'll be right back after this. Word, word, word. This episode is brought to you by FXX and Hulu. Futurama returns on September 15 blending heartfelt moments with razor sharp humor while accidentally scared, saving the day, the Planet Express crew is back, defying gravity and common sense. From the creator of The Simpsons comes 10 new episodes where the romance is hotter, the threats are bigger and the action hits harder. Don't miss the all new season of Futurama returning September 15th at 8pm Watch it on FXX or streaming on Hulu.
- [26:32]
Podcast Advertiser/Announcer
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- [27:35]
Jake Brennan
The Redlands bust was in February 1967, but Keith Richards, Bick Jagger and Robert Fraser would not be formally charged until May 10th of that year. On that day, Brian Jones was recuperating from a brief trip to Cannes at his Courtfield Road, South Kensington apartment with his friend. Yet another bohemian aristo who'd come under the spell of the Rolling Stones. Stash Klozowski. The phone rang. Brian ignored, kept ringing. He ignored it. Still it rang again. He picked up the receiver and quickly dropped it back on its handle. It then rained some more. He repeated the move and then it rang again and again and again, until finally Brian was forced to answer. Hello? The voice on the other line was clearly a journo. Kurt excited, zero politeness. Have you been arrested? Excuse me? Brian said. How's it feel to be the third Rolling Stone busted for drugs? What? Brian asked and quickly hung up the phone. He told Stache about the exchange while the phone began to ring again. Immediately Stache figured out what was going on. Quick, hide the drugs. They're on their way. The two sprung up and began searching for whatever drugs they could find to quickly dispose of. There weren't many, thankfully, but still, Stache and Brian were smart to be on the lookout for random supplies absentmindedly left behind by past partiers. At Brian's flat, they found none. After a thorough search, secure in the fact that the apartment was clean, the two collapsed into Brian's living room furniture and awaited what they suspected was a coming shit show. The doorbell rang. Stache peered through the people. It was Muhammad Johash, Robert Fraser's servant, who Stash had called after the press phone to inquire about coming over to help. Stache opened the door to let Muhammad in, and when he did, out of nowhere, a pack of strangers pushed their way into the flat behind Mohammed. The strangers quickly went to work. At first Stash couldn't tell if there were cops or press or both, but it didn't take long to realize it was indeed a mix of both. But how in the hell did the press get there so quickly? How did the know what was going on and left a call and inquire about being busted for drugs before the police even showed up? And here now it was clear that the police had arrived after the press fighting their way past them out front of Brian's flat to work their way in the front door to search for drugs that he had supposedly already been arrested for. Despite the clear and present skullduggery, Stash was convinced, as was Brian, that nothing would come of it after, as they knew there were no drugs in the house. But that confidence faded as soon as they saw the head knob himself. Police Sergeant Norman Pilcher. Old nobby hadn't made it to the Redlands raid, but he made his presence felt during the raid of Brian Jones apartment, making a big show of his search technique, sauntering around the apartment, blowing hard in that booming voice of his about the moral turpitude of pop stars. Stache caught the move. One of Pilcher's men pulled a hippie looking wallet from under the mattress in it. Grass. Bullshit. Stache knew there was no wallet full of grass under the mattress. He just checked it. And before he could bring his mouth to protest, Pilcher shouted his discovery from another part of the flat. A vial of cocaine. Again, bullshit, thought Stache. The drugs were planted, pure and simple. Planted to sink the Stones. It didn't matter. More drugs found in the possession of another Rolling Stone on the same day Keith Richards and Mick Jagger were being formally charged. That's what the press was going to report. It was the next move from the establishment, the one meant to counter Mick Jagger's move, where he brought a libel suit against the News of the World for the libelous and incorrect account in their drugs and Rock stars expose from a couple months earlier, accusing Mick of admitting to taking lsd, when in reality it was actually Brian Jones raiding and arresting Brian Jones was the corrupt News of the World working in tandem with Norman Pilcher's police to strike back to prove, despite Mick Jagger's libel suit, that it didn't matter what Mick Jagger said with his lawsuits or what his and Keith Richards lawyers said in court in their defense. This new bust of Brian Jones would prove it that the Rolling Stones were dangerous drug addicts whose influence would corrupt London's youth and completely disrupt the established social order. After the bus, Brian was back home. His phone rang and this time he picked it up on the first ring. It was beetle Paul McCartney offering to help with Brian's legal bills, imploring Brian, who he correctly suspected was in a depressive and defeat to state to fight these corrupt charges. Brian was agreeable, if not inspired, clearly down. Paul invited him around the studio to sit in on a session the Beatles were having him to play guitar. Brian showed up later at Abbey Road Studios, but not with his guitar, with an alto sax, and during the recording of John Lennon's highly abstract, you Know My Name, Look Up My number, Brian, once again showing his prowess as an inspired multi instrumentalist, blew an impressive sax solo to rap the tune at the 351 mark. The track would show up three years later in 1970 as the B side to the single Let It Be, and by that time Brian Jones would be long gone. Later that month, at the end of June 1967, Mick Jagger, Robert Fraser and Keith Richards stood trial for drug possession on day one. It took the court five minutes to convict both Mick and Groovy Bob and they were sent to Lewes Prison to await sentencing. Mick heard the snickering of the guards and then came their lewd inquiries. How did it taste? The Mars Bar, the one the coppers caught him eating out of Marianne Faithful's vagina at Redlands on the day of the bust. Mick was beyond disgusted. The rumor was sick and totally false and cooked up by one of the raiding cops and passed on to the press to run with, there was a Mars bar on the scene. Yes. And yes, Marianne was wearing nothing but a rug. But how those two facts led to the rumor about the Mars Bar should have been beyond anyone's wildest imagination. Beyond being ridiculous, it was totally unfair to Marianne Faithful. She was getting it coming and going. Slut, shamed publicly by the press and cast as an unwitting innocent victim by the prosecution to make the case that Mick Jagger and Keith Richards had corrupted her. Proof of the disruptive, morally bankrupt behavior of the Rolling Stones. On the second day of the trial, Keith Richards day in court with Mick sweating it out behind bars and Marianne sweating it out on the outside, with the full heat of the national press coming down on her. The judge tried provoking Keith, pointing out that surely someone who would allow cannabis to be smoked in his home, to allow a young innocent woman to come under the influence of drugs in his home and to then be defiled by disreputable men, drug addicts, the lot of the men, Surely someone who would do this was nothing more than quote, unquote, filth or scum, and suggested that people like this shouldn't be allowed to walk free. The prosecutor, thinking he had Keith on the ropes, went in for the kill, asking Mr. Richards, would you agree that in the ordinary course of. Of events, you would expect a young woman to be embarrassed if she had nothing on in front of several men? Keith stone faced, not at all. We are not old men and we are not worried about petty morals. She had been upstairs and bathed. The prosecutor. Did it come as a great surprise to you that she was prepared to go back downstairs, still only wearing a rug in front of 10 police officers? Keith, I thought the rug was big enough to cover three. Three women. The prosecutor, I wasn't talking about the impropriety, but embarrassment. Keith took a moment, thought about the question, let the tension in the room naturally build before answering, and then deadpanned, she doesn't embarrass easily Nor do I. The exchange, once reported, instantly cemented Keith Richards reputation as we know it today. That tell it like it is. Can't give a fuck. Rock and roll pirate swooping into action to lend his toughness, his attitude, his badassery to whatever the situation demands. The move made the press and the public consider Keith Richards differently. He wasn't the third chair in the band behind Brian Jones, the band's founder and Mick Jagger, the band's frontman. He was his own man, a Rebels rebel. And for putting his neck on the line on the court record, for sticking up for his singer's girlfriend in public at the expense of his own freedom, and for in effect telling the establishment to go fuck themselves, he was elevated to instant folk hero status. The judge however, was not impressed. He gave Keith a one year sentence for his smart mouth. The maximum allowed for the relatively minor drug charge of allowing others to partake in illicit drugs in his home. Hell, Robert Frazier had heroin on him and he only received a three month sentence. Along with Mick, Brian would get nine months suspended sentence and forced drug rehabilitation. But just as the bust made Keith Richards, it broke Brian Jones. His days were numbered both as a Rolling Stone and as a living, breathing, functioning member of society. He would continue his slide into drug abuse and paranoia and be arrested in again a year later, unceremoniously kicked out of the band by Mick and Keith. A year after that in June of 1969 and less than a month later would drown to death somewhat mysteriously in his swimming pool. On July 3rd, 1969, Keith stood in the yard at Wormwood Scrubs staring at the prison wall. Visions of George Blake and his great escape. One of the guards nudged him on the shoulder and informed him that his one day in prison would be his last. His lawyer had secured his release pending appeal. Keith's prison mates quickly went to work penning letters swiftly to their loved ones and handing them off to Keith to deliver them as soon as he could. On the outside, Keith stuffed his pockets and delivered every last letter. Mick Jagger was released that day as well. Robert Fraser wasn't so lucky. He'd serve his time. Ironically, upon Mick and Keith's release it was the bastion of conservative UK press, the London Times, that ran an editorial pointing out the unjust and extremely harsh sentencing handed out to Mick and Keith, claiming correctly that had they been regular citizens and not pop stars, that the establishment deemed disruptive to society, an establishment with a clear vendetta against them duo, that their sentences wouldn't have been nearly as extreme. The editorial in the times went a long way in swaying public opinion in favor of Mick and Keith, and on appeal their two prison sentences were quashed. As it turned out, the Redlands bust was the result of Keith chauffeur tipping off the News of the World, who was clearly in cahoots with the police tipping them off to make the raid. And the coppers were one step ahead, having already ensconced their man David Schneiderman, the Acid King King narc into the good graces of the Rolling Stones and the rest of the Aristo Chelsea set who had fallen under the dangerous sway of the lower class rockers when it came time to bust Brian. A few months later when the press showed up at Brian's place to cover a drug bust that hadn't even taken place yet, what was supposed to be the final nail in the Rolling Stones coffin turned out to be clear proof that the establishment was collision looting to imprison the pop stars. How disgraceful. I'm Jake Brennan and this is Disgrace. Disgraceland was created by yours truly and is produced in partnership with Double Elvis. Credits for this episode can be found on the show notes page@gracelandpod.com if you're listening as a Disgraceland All Access member, thank you for supporting the show. We really appreciate it. And if not, you can become a member right now by going to Disgracelandpod.com Membership members can listen to every episode of Disgraceland Land ad free. Plus you'll get one brand new exclusive episode every month, weekly unscripted bonus episodes, special audio collections, and early access to merchandise and events. Visit disgracelandpod.com membership for details. Rate and review the show and follow us on Instagram, TikTok, Twitter and Facebook disgracelandpod and on YouTube@YouTube.com gracelandpod Rocka Rolla He's a bad bad man and Doug Limu and I always tell you to customize your car insurance and save hundreds with Liberty Mutual, but now we want you to feel it. Cue the emu music. Limu Save yourself money today. Increase your wealth. Customize and save. We see that may have been too much feeling. Only pay for what you need@libertymutual.com Liberty Liberty Liberty Liberty Savings Very unwritten by Liberty Mutual Insurance Company and affiliates. 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